Toward a Better Life

by Peter Morton Coan

  Then there's Felix and Cynthia from Mexico City. They had worked with a lawyer, a so-called lawyer, on their immigration papers [and] work permits, and everything was in process. But they were caught in a trap because this so-called lawyer had applied for them to be here legally as asylees, and Mexico does not get asylum. And Cynthia also had a deportation order against her. A lot of people who've been here for many years have a deportation order from a long time ago, and ICE likes to call in its chips: “OK, you've got this against you. We're gonna get you now.”

  So she and her husband hired a real lawyer, who charged $10,000 to work on a case. So the lawyer decided to work on Felix's papers first as the main breadwinner. Felix worked in construction. He had a very good job. He's also an ordained deacon. He had his permanent residency and all that. They started to work on her papers, and one day—I think she was using another Social Security number with her own name, but ICE went to where she worked and arrested her. They took her away, and she did not come back home. She was taken to Des Moines. She wasn't there very long, and she was deported to Mexico. She was either given a ten-year bar or a twenty-year bar, which means she cannot come back legally within that amount of time. If she does come back and she gets caught, she will spend the remainder of that time in prison.

  Now, they have four children: fourteen, twelve, seven, and five. So those kids are up here without Mom. Cynthia's mom came here and stayed for like six months. Shortly after Cynthia went back to Mexico, she [the mother] came and stayed here to help Felix get his feet on the ground in terms of how to handle these four kids without her. Cynthia's mom came on a visitor's visa. The kids were up here almost a year without seeing Cynthia. I mean, there's phone calls, and I don't know if they used Skype to talk—and Felix had gone back a couple of times to see her, but it's very expensive, so the deacon community helped him financially. He took the four kids down to Mexico two weeks ago to spend time with Cynthia, and then just before school starts, he'll go down and pick them up and bring them back. What Felix is hoping is that after being a legal resident for five years, he can apply to become a citizen, and then he can apply to bring Cynthia up as his spouse, so you're talking a long time.

  So there's a family that's totally disrupted. She'll never get that time back again, and those kids will never get that time back again. I don't know if you have kids, but when one of the parents is gone, it's all up for grabs. The chaos that's involved is substantial because Felix works full time. The oldest boy is fourteen and the girl is twelve, and to expect them to take on the role of the adults in the house is asking a lot.

  Then there's Martha and Moises from Mexico. When they came, they were both undocumented. And they settled in California and eventually made their way to Iowa, and there were lots of hard times and lean times in between, but today both Martha and Moises are citizens. They are realtors in town. Moises also works as a manager at the casino here, and their oldest daughter is married to an Anglo who's an engineer. They have a daughter who's in law school, another daughter who's in medical school, and the youngest son just graduated from high school and he's going to study graphic arts. So they really are a success story and where the American Dream should let everybody go. But there are way too many stories that are not like them. They are the exception rather than the rule, and a lot of it is personality, too. Martha's the kind of person who doesn't let anyone step on her. And a lot of other people—their whole life they've been stepped on, and they just want to stay out of the way.

  Do the Anglo locals resent the Hispanics? There's some of that. But the people have also come to know the Hispanic people because they work with them, their kids are friends with them, they've seen them in the community. I think the Swift raid in 2006 did a lot to solidify positive attitudes in the community, but yes, there are some people who resent them, don't like them. And some people grudgingly say, “I guess it's a good thing they're here,” because all of our schools have expanded. They've put additions on, upgraded them, so the schools have grown. The hospital has a new OB wing. We have more than forty Latino businesses in town, and so, economically, it's been a boon.

  Supposedly there aren't going to be any more mass factory raids like ICE did in 1996 and 2006. What they do now is go door to door looking for people, and they do it whenever they want. I think they're doing it all the time in different places. They get out these old arrest warrants—deportation orders—and find where these people are. I can't imagine how much money it costs to drag somebody down. People I know have said to me, “When we're in public, call me by this name because that's how people know me.” [She laughs at the irony.] To me, that is like the ultimate in poverty, when you have to give up your own identification: “My fake ID at work says Maria, so when I'm out in public I have to be Maria, but when I'm home I'm Christina.” That's really bad. And it's all out of fear that an ICE agent is going to come up and tap you on the shoulder.

  There are also people who will turn other people in out of jealousy or just wanting to hold fear over somebody, like, “I know you're illegal, and if you do this or don't do that I'll call immigration.” Another thing that's a side effect are parents who don't have authority in the home because in a lot of cases kids will threaten them with calling immigration.

  What boils my blood is that nothing is being done, truly. A couple of nights ago I went to Des Moines and saw the movie Papers, about five undocumented youths whose life in America is affected daily by their lack of papers and how their lack of legal status makes it impossible for them to drive or work or go to college. And we have an extremely high dropout rate in our high school, and a lot of them are Hispanic kids. One of the people in the film said that kids do really well until junior year, when they wake up to the fact that “I'm undocumented, so why bother? I'm not going to be able to go to college; I'm not going to be able to get a job.…” But we've also got some great kids who are working on getting this DREAM Act passed. These are kids who don't have documentation. Kids who are 4.0 in high school and took college-level courses. One girl said to me, “I took college courses when I was in high school because I wanted to graduate a year earlier than my friends, but now I'm two years behind my friends and they're going to graduate next year.” So it's really pathetic.

  Is the American Dream still alive here? I don't know. To me, the American Dream is that everybody can have an opportunity to be happy. Is that happening in Marshalltown, Iowa? For some people it is. But then again, with the whole immigration thing, I think you'd be hard put to find anyone in the Hispanic community who does not know someone who is going through life's realities as an undocumented person. You know, it's sort of like the thing with cancer: everybody knows somebody who is struggling with this.

  I sympathize with Arizona to the extent that I know it's got to be really bad there because I know what it's like here. I'm sure there's a lot of violent activity and drugs—if not there, then just across the border—and so it's fear motivated. The problem is that fear is contagious, so I don't know where it's going to end. I think Arizona stepped over the line. I think it would be great if everybody wore sunglasses and the colors looked the same. I think a lot of it is not just an immigration issue, it's a race issue. I really do. Because when people talk about immigration, they talk about Mexicans. They don't talk about the Canadians who are here illegally, who I've heard is a huge number. They don't talk about the other groups who are here illegally. There are Europeans who are here illegally. They came on a visa from another country, and then it ran out and they just stayed. But they look like us [white Anglo-Americans] and they look like they're supposed to be here, so it's OK. In Fremont, Nebraska, the city recently passed a law that to rent you have to prove you are here legally. I mean, to rent! Everybody rents. And that's Fremont, Nebraska!

  DREAM ACT STUDENTS

  The Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act is a piece of proposed federal legislation first introduced in 2001 by Senator Orrin Hatch (R-UT) that would establish a path to citiz
enship for undocumented immigrants who arrived in the United States as children, only to find out they had no legal status as adults. It would transition these youth out of the shadows and into being full members of society, allowing them to pursue college, serve in the military, or work legally without fear of being deported back to a birth country they have little or no memory of—and whose language they perhaps do not even speak. The bill would directly affect an estimated 2.5 million “Americanized” but undocumented immigrant students.

  “These determined and dedicated young people need the chance to become productive members of our society,” said Representative Zoe Lofgren (D-CA), a supporter of the bill. “They never had a choice in their situation. Yet our law blames them for it and makes them pay a heavy price. We should not penalize innocent children for the actions of their parents, but should instead reward them when they succeed.”

  The DREAM Act—or, as some call it, the American Dream Act—has been voted on several times before the House and Senate, but its passage has remained elusive. In 2007, it came eight votes shy of the sixty votes needed for passage, and while it has received overwhelming support from the general public in polls, the initiative appears to have become a political football, consistently discussed but never resolved.

  In September 2010, the bill was reintroduced again, this time incorporated as part of the 2010 National Defense Authorization Act, but it failed to get a single Republican to support it, even among those who had favored the measure in the past, and fell four votes shy of passage.

  In December 2010, the House of Representatives passed the bill in a vote of 216–198, only to have it rejected by the Senate, which voted 55–41 to block it from going to President Barack Obama—a proponent of the measure—for his signature. It was a painful setback for the DREAM Act movement, as only three Republicans voted for it, and its failure appeared to leave the immigration policy of the Obama administration in disarray, at least temporarily.

  What follows is the oral testimony of three DREAM Act students who appeared on May 18, 2007, in Washington, DC, before the House Judiciary Subcommittee on Immigration, Citizenship, Refugees, Border Security, and International Law regarding a hearing on “Comprehensive Immigration Reform: The Future of Undocumented Immigrant Students.”

  These are their stories, in their own words.

  Raised in Jefferson City, Missouri, she graduated with honors from Helias High School, one of Missouri's top secondary schools. She was a member of the National Honor Society, the foreign language club, the tennis team, and the track team. She also volunteered extensively for the Vitae Society and the youth group at her church. She was also once chosen by Latina magazine as one of their Women of the Year. “I would like to become an attorney one day. I would like to work for advocacy, for people who are underrepresented, whether that be {in} immigration or other issues.”

  Good morning. My name is Marie Nazareth Gonzalez. I am a twenty-one-year-old junior from Jefferson City, Missouri, currently attending Westminster College in Fulton, Missouri. I'm majoring in political science and international business with a focus on communication and leadership.

  My family is originally from Costa Rica. I was born in Alajuela, Costa Rica, but have been living in the United States since the age of five. My parents, Marina and Marvin, brought me to the United States in November of 1991. Having come over legally, their plan was to become US citizens so we could one day all benefit from living in the land of the free. We sought to live the American Dream: the promise of a better education, a better life, and altogether a better future—what any parent would want for their child. Strong values and good morals have been instilled in me from a very young age. As long as I can remember, my parents have worked very hard for every dollar they've earned and in the process have taught me that life is not easy and that I must work hard and honorably for what I want in life.

  That is exactly what they did. When they came to the United States, they had no intention of breaking the law or of making an exception of themselves. Unfortunately, the law is very difficult and complex. I am not making excuses for what happened, just trying to clear my family's name. Throughout all our years in the United States, we worked very hard for what we had, thinking that one day soon we would be citizens.

  In April of 2002, our family's dream of becoming citizens was halted by a phone call. My father had been working for the state as a courier for the governor's office. The job was not prestigious in any way, but my father was very devoted to his job and was loved and respected by his coworkers. On one occasion, the governor even publicly stated his appreciation for my dad while he was making opening remarks at an event for Missouri high school sophomores that I attended. All of that ended after an anonymous person called the governor's office requesting that our immigration status be confirmed.

  From that day forward, my life became a haze of meetings with attorneys, hearings, and rallies. When they heard that we were facing deportation, the community that knew us in Jefferson City rallied behind my family and me to an overwhelming degree. They knew we were hardworking, honorable, taxpaying people, and they fought to allow us to stay in the United States. Members of our Catholic parish, where my mom worked as a volunteer Spanish teacher and after-school care director joined with other community members to form the “Gonzalez Group” to rally support by collecting signatures for petitions and organizing phone calls. My classmates, teachers, and others also got involved because they considered me an important part of their community.

  I was in high school at the time, with graduation quickly approaching. I was in my class's homecoming court. When it came out in the newspaper that I was being deported to a country I had not known since the age of five, people all across the country responded. They started a “We Are Marie” campaign, and tens of thousands called and wrote letters on my behalf. When I was a high school senior and our family's deportation date was looming very close, they brought me to Washington, DC. I got involved in advocacy for the DREAM Act. Unlike thousands of others like me who would benefit from the DREAM Act, I had little to fear from speaking out, since I was already facing deportation. When I gave the valedictorian speech at a mock graduation in front of the Capitol, I became a national symbol of the DREAM Act.

  Eventually all of the work of so many people on my behalf began to pay off. My representative, Ike Skelton, and both of my senators, Jim Talent and Kit Bond, responded to the support from the community and got involved in the effort to keep me here. Eventually, though, all of our appeals were exhausted, and a final date was set for our family to leave the United States for good: July 5, 2005.

  I remember that the weeks before that date were surreal. I was overwhelmed by the support I received. I appeared on national television, once with Senator Richard Durbin at my side, and was contacted by the media so often that I got tired of it. I thought, “Even if it is too late for me, at least it might help the DREAM Act to pass so that others like me won't have to face this ordeal.”

  Then, on July 1, 2005, I got word that the Department of Homeland Security had relented and would allow me to defer my departure for one year. When I got that news, I cried—simultaneously with happiness and grief. Even though I would be able to stay, my parents would have to leave in just three days. The Gonzalez Group had made shirts and organized a float for the Fourth of July parade. So, the day before their departure, my parents and I rode in the parade with other members of the group that had been such a huge part of our family. Hundreds cheered us on and voiced their support and sorrow.

  My life since April of 2002 can be easily compared to a rollercoaster. There have been times when I have felt like I was on top of the world, living out my and my parents' dream of being a successful young woman in her college career, only to be brought down by the realization that at any moment it can be taken away. The deferral of my deportation has been renewed twice, each time for a year. Last month, when they gave me until June of 2008, they told me it would be the last renewal. If the DREAM Act
does not pass by then, I will have to leave. I recognize that I am lucky to have been allowed to stay as long as I have. Others in my same situation have not had nearly the support that I have. Even so, it is hard not knowing if I will be able to remain in school at Westminster long enough to graduate.

  I am only one student and one story. In the course of fighting to remain here, I have been lucky to meet many other students who would benefit from the DREAM Act, and one of the reasons I wanted to come here and testify is to speak to you on their behalf. Unlike them, I can speak about this issue in public without risking deportation. I share with them in their pain, fear, and uncertainty. Their stories are heartbreaking and similar. In my experiences and my travels, I have come to the realization that they would only be an asset to the country if only given the chance to prove themselves. The DREAM Act has the potential to not only impact the thousands of students who would qualify but also benefit this great nation by allowing these students to pursue their education and their dreams of success.

  I can personally attest to how life in limbo is no way to live. Having been torn apart from my parents for almost two years and struggling to make it on my own, I know what it is like to face difficulty and how hard it is to fight for your dreams. No matter what, I will always consider the United States of America my home. I love this country. Only in America would a person like me have the opportunity to tell my story to people like you. Many may argue that because I have a Costa Rican birth certificate, I am Costa Rican and should be sent back to that country. If I am sent back there, sure, I'd be with my mom and dad, but I'd be torn away from loved ones that are my family here, and from everything I have known since I was a child. I hope one day not only to be a US citizen but to go to law school at Mizzou [University of Missouri], to live in DC, and to continue advocating for others who can't speak for themselves. Whether that will happen, though, is up to you—our nation's leaders—and to God.